Transformers Prime: Ghosts
by BlackWolf219
Summary: M.E.C.H's latest plan requires that the government employ a new means of combat. Jack finds himself in the middle of a conflict and asks himself a questions: Do you believe in Ghosts?
1. Chapter 1

Along a narrow dirt road that stretched along the expanse of a forest, a hummer—black with no distinguishing marks—drove silently. The night sky provided sufficient cover as tires rolled smoothly along the dirt. Headlights beamed through the dark to reveal the way to the hummer's destination. When they past the checkpoint, the lights were switched off, and the drivers applied their night-vision goggles. With them, they wouldn't need headlights to see the rest of the way.

They were only a few miles out from their base of operations where all their work to bring down their oppressive regime bore new fruit every day. Their latest acquisition would prove to accelerate their goals to the promised day, where their sacrifices would be honored. Until then, they were to curb their excitement in exchange for focus. There would be plenty of time to celebrate; but duty always preceded pleasure. Coming to a stop, they exited the vehicle to continue on foot.

Hiding it under a camo tarp amongst the shrubbery, they proceeded along a dirt path, the wind ensuring their prints would be forgotten by morning. There were only four of them to a hummer, which guaranteed accuracy in evasion. Rifles ready to be fired at the slightest disturbance and with the quickest reflex, there was little for them to fear. Still, precaution was a constant when living in their world. Soon enough, their journey came to a halt when they found themselves before their newly appointed leader.

Dark eyes appraised them through the darkness, judging their validity and conviction; it had been this way since the changing of power. Their former leader had fallen to madness and nearly crippled their operation. It had taken nearly a year but they had returned in full force; today marked a new day for them. From the darkness, others emerged with tools prepared to scan for anything no true soldier would be carrying. To match the dark eyes, a voice, rich as molasses, spoke, "We're you followed?"

"No, sir," they replied in unison.

They dropped their weapons, spread their legs shoulder-length apart, their arms an equal distance, and stood perfectly still. They were padded down, had detection devices run along their body and briefly removed masks to provide saliva for DNA and retinal scans. These new measures were put in place to avoid infiltration. Once it was determined they were themselves, the figure did an about-face and walked off into the darkness. Gathering and readjusting their gear, they followed.

"Our latest acquisition has proven to be most deadly in the trial phase," stated the leader. "We now possess the sufficient amount of data of its practical use. The only way to know for certain would be to launch a field test. Once we have the location set-up, we can transfer all our equipment and locate a suitable target."

"A military base, sir?" one of them suggested.

"Perhaps, but we must ensure civilian casualties are avoided," he replied. "The people are our backbone. If they turn against us, we lose our chance for change and the debacle Bishop started will be complete."

"Understood," they replied.

They passed several checkpoints, going through the proper channels each time, enduring cavity searches just to prove their identities are valid. Some had protested these supposed "violations" only to be met with extermination. They could see the need for tightened security; their numbers had dwindled thanks to the fall of their progenitor. It would be easy for the government to replace one of them with a trained imposter to bring them down from the inside. That was how "terrorists" were dealt with after all.

But they were not terrorists, they were revolutionaries seeking a desired change in the status quo that left in a perpetual state of delusion. Passing the final checkpoint and suffering one final indignity, they were permitted access to their base of operations. Rumors that the government had built secret institutions for the sole purpose of testing out new weapons far from exaggerated. It would be a matter of time before they were discovered and forced to flee. They were preparing for just such an occasion.

The leader said, "I've made contact with our benefactors, they should be able to provide us shelter. This will require that we relocate out of the country for some time. Though our facilities have proven used and worn in the past, this one shall await us with the latest in technological warfare."

Most smiled under their masks; their new leader was turning out far from the disappointment that had been Leland Bishop. His promises brought them new technology, better accommodations, and far more opportunities that made their goal all the more true. By abandoning them for whatever fantasy had been born of his injuries and newly found mental instability, Silas had done them a tremendous service. Their new leader would bring about the new world order in no time at all. None would stop M.E.C.H. from achieving its ultimate goal.

Piling into a lift, they allowed the aged mechanisms to turn and groan, descending into the depths of their base. There had often been talk as to what became of Silas after his departure from M.E.C.H. However, all thoughts of the deserter were silenced when in the presence of their new leader. It was him who held the reigns of their organization now. He had more than proven himself a worthy leader.

"Sir, how long until the project is complete?"

"I have our new science division devoting their resources to its hurried completion. Once they update on their progress, you will act accordingly."

"Yes, sir."

The groaning of the lift ceased with a final screech of metal as they reached their floor, the doors lifting to reveal the expanse of their base. However, this was not the sight they had hoped would meet them upon arrival. The calm visage of their leader tightened as his eyes surveyed the area. They drew their weapons and began a sweep for enemy patrols. Someone had managed to infiltrate their base despite careful planning.

Bodies lay prone everywhere while many rushed to their aid; the machines they had been working were damaged. No doubt any data collected over the years was either lost or in enemy hands. Weapons laid forgotten on the floor, signs they had been fired evident. But it was also clear they had missed whatever they had been trying to hit. The medical teams were doing their best, but it was likely they had lost their scientists.

For now.

Kneeling down, their leader examined the lone survivor, left to tell the story before joining his brothers in death. Blood poured from his wounds and was no doubt filling his lungs as he struggled to speak. His eyes were filled with shame and disgrace at failing to protect their intel. His breaths grew shorter and more ragged as he struggled to pass on whatever message had kept him alive until now.

"W-We. . . never s-saw. . . t-th-them. . ."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Agent William Fowler waited outside the office of General Scott Mitchell, head of the Global Specialized Tactics Division, having been summoned there to speak with the man. Since his and the Autobots' arrival, he dealt with one situation after another regarding Cybertronain tech and lore. It was nice to discuss matters closer to home; such as military. He heard rumors that M.E.C.H. was looking for a comeback under a new regime. As if hunting for ancient prehistoric alien bones weren't concerning enough.

And if they were making another play to replace the current government with their own, then chances were they were going to use all the Cybertronian technology they could get their hands on. And wherever the 'Bots were concerned, Fowler had reason to be there and take over any investigation. He wondered who would be capable of taking Leland Bishop's place as head of the terrorist group. His blood still boiled at the idea that active duty military personnel might be involved in some way. They were a disgrace to the uniform and he couldn't wait to see them hang for their crimes.

What made man—and sometimes women—turn against their country, he often wondered. Sure, they had every right to disagree with the government if they didn't like the policies in place. But to actually plot to takeover and be willing to set off nuclear devices seemed impossible to him. He was all for dying for a worthy cause, but if bloodshed could be avoided, he'd settle for it in a heartbeat. He resigned to the fact that he may never know what truly motivated people to actions such as M.E.C.H's.

"Agent Fowler," a feminine voice addressed him. He looked up from his seat to find June Darby staring at him. She was dressed in short sleeve shirt and denim jeans as opposed to her usual medical attire.

"Morning, June," he greeted. "What brings you here?"

"The same as you I suppose," she said. "General Mitchell asked to speak with me."

"Why on earth would he want to do that?" to his knowledge, the General already had more than sufficient medical personnel under his command. Of course, one could never be too careful when it comes to the safety of your Division. Of course, he couldn't recognize the need to consult with Nurse Darby; skilled as she was, he was certain there were far more qualified medical personnel for the job. For a moment, he wondered about the general's personal life and if there was a "Mrs. Scott Mitchell" in the picture. He promptly shook away such thoughts when the door opened.

General Mitchell greeted them both, "I apologize for calling you both on such short notice, but I feel this is a matter of great importance." Scott Mitchell had brown hair fixed into a military buzz cut and dressed in uniform, the breasts of his suit adorned by the nametag and numerous accommodations he'd earned during his years in the Army. His face was passive save for the sharp angles no doubt gained from years on the battlefield. Word was he was fresh out of the fight and still getting used to issuing orders from the comfort of a desk. He ushered them inside, "A fourth party will be joining us shortly. In the meantime, I thought we might discuss the matter at hand."

"General," Fowler interrupted. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you it's against protocol to discuss matters of great military importance while in the presence of a civilian."

"I'm certain Nurse Darby can keep a secret," he smiled at the nurse, who blushed in response. Fowler ignored the strange sensation in his gut upon witnessing the brief exchange. "Besides, what we have to discuss today has nothing to do with anything top-secret. Rather, it concerns her son, Jackson Darby."

The smile left her as she leveled a stern gaze on the man, "What about my son?"

"As you are well aware," he spoke slowly, making sure he wasn't about to step beyond his boundaries. "several months ago, Mr. Darby was trapped in an alternate dimension alongside the Decepticon, designation: Dreadwing."

June nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat at the painful memory of when she thought her son was dead. It had been a trying time for them all during that period, particularly when the top brass was notified. He heard rumors that the President was considering shutting down Team Prime after what happened. And he was likely facing incarceration for allowing civilians near the 'Bots to begin with. Thankfully, the revelation of Jack's survival and the easing of tensions that followed put matters to rest, for the moment.

He remembered General Mitchell had a private conversation with Optimus Prime regarding something he'd refused to elaborate on at the time. Fowler could only guess the subject of their discussion was the same one as now. Admittedly he didn't know Jack—nor Miko or Raf, the other children under the protection of the Autobots—well enough. That didn't mean he wasn't at all suspicious as to why the head of a Special Forces Division was so interested in him. He was about to speak up when there came a gentle rapping on the door.

"Enter," replied Mitchell.

The door opened, revealing a tall, well-built African-American man, black hair shaved near his scalp, dark brown eyes, and a goatee. His uniform revealed him to be Army, several medals and ribbons documenting the great things he'd done in service to his country. The small patch under his nametag revealed him to an agent of the Global Specialized Tactics Division, or the GST. But that wasn't all that Fowler noticed.

Standing from his chair, he risked it, "Cedric?"

It took the man a moment to recognize him; Fowler kicked himself for having let himself go during his time as an agent. The well-muscled torso he'd spent hours working to achieve had expanded and bloated thanks to his diet. He'd been eating the proper foods but still remained heavy-set. Apparently his appearance hadn't changed that much since the next words that passed through the man's lips were, Bill?"

"I take it you two know each other?" asked Mitchell while June also looked intrigued.

"Yes, sir," replied Cedric. "Fowler and I served in the same unit some years back. I was his second-in-command until. . ."

Fowler winced at the tightening of Cedric's lips at the memory of him transferring from the Army to work for the government as an agent. Their ranger squad—Cedric included—had not taken the news well and he'd left them on less than amicable terms. The two of them hadn't seen each other since.

Sensing the tension, June stood and extended her hand in greeting, "Hello, I'm June Darby."

Cedric took her hand and shook it, responding with a soldier's tone, "Captain Cedric Ferguson, mam, it's a pleasure." Captain, thought Fowler. So Ferguson had been promoted at some point.

Fowler looked at Ferguson, "Any specific reason why the GST is interested in Jack Darby?"

"General Mitchell simply wishes for my team and I to instruct Mr. Darby in special forces tactics, the basics. Nothing dangerous, no life-threatening situations. Just a training session to determine if we should scout him out in the future."

"That's a little against protocol, isn't it?" asked June.

"I assure you, mam," Ferguson said to her. "I will personally take responsibility for any injury your son might suffer under our care. At the first sign of trouble, we will evacuate him to a safe extraction point and return him home A.S.A.P. My team and I will take care of him."

"I'm not sure."

"I know this must be hard, mam, I'm a father myself, two children. I wouldn't want my boy going into a situation like this either, but we're trained to handle whatever's thrown at us and throw something even harder back."

"I suppose I should talk with Jack about this," June stood and shook Mitchell's hand. "Thank you for coming to me first. Captain, I'm sure Bill and I would love for you to join us."

Despite the obvious tension, they agreed and left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

They trio had decided to take Ferguson jeep to where she and Jack had taken up residence since their home was demolished. June watched from the backseat, obviously sensing the tension between Agent Fowler and Captain Ferguson. She noticed he seemed more self-conscious about his appearance when he first looked at the captain. They were around the same age so it was natural for him to feel a little envious that his old Army buddy had kept up his appearance. Ferguson seemed to pay it no mind and kept his eyes on the road.

June bit her lower lip and tried to think of something to say; nothing came to mind so she kept quiet and watched the world speed by. This was obviously an issue she knew nothing about and had no reason to comment on. Her only stake in this was the fact that Ferguson and the division he worked for were interested in Jack. They wanted to take Jack on a training mission to teach him the basics about Special Forces. Obviously this didn't sit well with her; no mother wanted her son to pursue a career that never fully guaranteed their survival.

She'd treated her fair share of men from Jasper who'd sought to become more and joined the Army—they all came back different with something missing. She had known a few of them well enough for it to leave a lasting impression on her. The thought of it happening to her son was a frightening scenario. But as much as she hated to think about it, her son would soon reach the age where he no longer required her permission legally. With K/O Burger gone, Jack was in need of a different career path.

"Captain Ferguson," she said. "What exactly does the GST do?"

"Our mission is no different from any other Special Tactics group."

June arched an eyebrow. She knew a rehearsed answer when she heard. Whatever Ferguson and his group did, it fell below public knowledge. She caught the intrigue in Fowler's eye as well. GST was likely above his pay grade.

Now she was a little less inclined to let her son take part in this "training session."

"Then why are you wasting your time training a sixteen-year-old who might not even want to be in the Army later in life, Cedric?"

Ferguson glanced at Fowler. "I haven't been told the exact detail—whatever it is has something to do with your division, which I know nothing about—but General Mitchell asked me to take Mr. Darby on a training mission to determine his competency. If he passes, his name will be up for consideration in the near future. If not, then he'll at least have some useful skills for emergencies. Can't be too careful nowadays."

Ferguson rounded the corner of the hanger where the Autobots were currently taking up residence and passed it. The hanger was closed off under the guise that renovations were being made to update the structure. Therefore the barracks surrounding the hanger was cut-off and used as housing for June, Jack, Miko, Raf and his family. The small buildings had been refurbished to accommodate their new guests for the time being. She still couldn't believe Rafeal's family had bought the explanation given.

But the fewer people who knew about the Autobots' presence on Earth, the better it was for everyone involved. She knew that her involvement had both relieved and worried Jack. There was no reason for Raf to go through the same thing. Miko's host parents had been informed she'd gone to Japan and they—along with all of Jasper—were relocated. Thus she and the three children are the only civilians outside the government that knew about them.

Ferguson parked the jeep outside and cut off the engine, the vehicle rumbling to a stop, getting out immediately. June and Fowler followed suit and the nurse directed them to the barracks she and Jack were using as residence. She opened the door and found her son reading a book on the top bunk of one of the beds. He looked up and immediately noticed Ferguson. The captain stood back while June made the introductions.

"Jack, this is Captain Cedric Ferguson, he works under General Mitchell—you remember him, right?"

Jack nodded but remained wary.

She let Ferguson come forward and explain. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Darby. I'm with the Global Specialized Tactics Division. I've been tasked with providing you with training essential to Special Forces combat. Weapons, CQC, strategies, the works."

"Why me?"

"From what I've heard, and I'm not privy to all the details, you were captured by enemy forces and survived. My team and I will provide you with the means necessary to prevent such a thing from occurring again. You have the option to refuse but I suggest you humor the higher-ups and get it over with. At most, you'll get some nice skills out of it."

"What exactly would I be doing, sir?"

"You'll be drilled on some maneuvers, instructed on some tactics, and learn how to use standard military weaponry. I'm told it's nothing more than a training exercise You'll be fine."

Jack looked to his mother, "What do you think about all this?"

"I'm not happy about it, but it sounds like all it would take is a few hours of your time. If you don't want to go through with this, I'm sure they'll understand. If you do then I'll support you all the way through."

Jack took a moment to process the information through his mind and weighed his options. Part of June hoped he would refuse the offer and Ferguson would leave. She held no personal animosity toward the soldier who'd once been friends with Agent Fowler. He was just following his orders and seemed just as hopeful Jack would decline the offer. Being a father of two and a soldier, he understood her desire for her son to choose a more peaceful career path.

"I need to talk to . . ., he eyed the captain. "Sadie."

"Sadie?" Ferguson angled a brow.

"A friend of mine who wouldn't like it if I up and disappeared on her without telling her. She's got trust issues."

"Girlfriend?" he asked Fowler.

"Not exactly."

"I'd prefer you no divulge the nature of your departure to her."

"Sadie can keep a secret, sir, I assure you."

"Fine."

**Ghosts**

Jack entered the hanger to look for Arcee while he thought about the offer given to him by the GST. He'd never imagined a military Special Forces unit coming to him for something as simple as training; wasn't that what boot camps were for? He couldn't help but question the motives for having an SF group train him. It seemed his partner's suspicious tendencies had rubbed off on him. He needed her commentary on the matter before making his final decision.

Sparing a greeting to Ratchet, he found his Autobot partner in her quarters coming out recharge. She sat up on her berth and noticed Jack's presence. She smiled at him, "Hey partner."

"Sleep well?"

"Pretty good. It's not often we can get a good rest with the 'Cons running around."

"I'm glad to hear that. You push yourself too hard sometimes. All of you do."

"I'm guessing you're not here to lecture me on how to fight 'Cons."

Jack smiled sheepishly; it was scary how well she could read him some times and vice versa. He thought of the fact they were bonded through unknown means. A bond that had gone unnoticed until they had both been discovered with cosmic rust. Thanks to Ratchet, they were no longer in any danger but the bond remained strong. There were times where Jack could almost feel her emotions; she was amazingly complex at times.

He could feel her concern for him at his silence and hesitation.

"Jack is everything all right?"

"Yeah," he replied. "It's just there's something I need to talk to you about."

Her spark transmitted another wave of worry to him which only made this harder. He took a moment to let the emotion pass over him, doing his best to respond with his own calmness. Bonds were still something new to him and he consulted Ratchet and Optimus about what happened. They had given him advice and he followed it as best he could. He watched Arcee; when he was certain she was calm, he spoke.

"General Mitchell has arranged for me to train with his Special Forces team." When she didn't respond immediately, he continued, "They say they'll teach me the basics, that it's not a dangerous mission and it'll go smoothly. I don't know what I should do so I came to hear your thoughts."

"What does June have to say?"

"She'll support whatever decision I make, but we both know she's hoping I'll refuse. I don't blame her; family in the military is always hard for everyone. I've never really thought about being in the Army but it beats working at K/O Burger."

He thought the small amount of humor would lessen the suspicion surrounding the offer but with Arcee it did little. She considered what he'd told her and came to her conclusions. He knew that, like his mother, Arcee would prefer he choose the path less dangerous. She knew he valued her opinion on the same level as June's and would respect whatever decision he made. He could feel her worry for him increase but when she looked at him, he knew what her answer would.

**Ghosts**

Cedric Ferguson had been questioning the decision to approach a teenager with the prospect of Special Forces training. Ever since General Mitchell had given him the assignment, he'd had his own reservations about it. Being the father of two made you consider the possibility you were sending someone's child to an early grave. Saying it was their choice only softened the blow of guilt that came with each death. So when Mr. Darby departed to seek the council of this "Sadie"—he'd curiously not mentioned a last name—Ferguson took a moment to reflect on what happened.

He hadn't expected to be reunited with his former C/O, Bill Fowler, but he couldn't find the time to dwell on issue right now. The bridge between them had been burned long ago. He'd seemed to have a found a nice job working as a spook for the government. But Ferguson had let the matter drop years ago. At least he'd have a nice story to tell his team when this was over.

He watched him interact with Nurse June Darby, picking up the subtle hint of attraction between the two. He'd heard Fowler's marriage hadn't worked out; marriages with Army men rarely worked out. That was why he was thankful for his wife's strength to raise the kids when he was deployed. In exchange, he took whatever time he could to spend with his family. So he found it a little unsettling about getting involved with a nurse who already had a son.

But it wasn't his place to judge Fowler on whom he chose to get involved with; he could tell by the kid's body language that he liked Fowler. He just didn't like his interest in his mother; understandable.

When Mr. Darby returned and the two returned their focus to him, they were all caught off-guard by his next words.

"I'll do it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The jeep rocked against the rough terrain of the dirt road as Ferguson navigated the way to the GST facility. Jack gripped his seat to keep from jerking around with each rough jump the vehicle made. Ferguson didn't seem to mind, having no doubt been in this situation numerous times before but that did little to ease the raven-haired teen. Checking his cell phone signal, he found that his service was being jammed. No doubt a security measure to prevent unauthorized communication.

It seemed even the upgrade Ratchet had made to his phone still did not stand up to the advancements made by military science. The youth made a note to ponder whether that constituted as good news or bad later. He was more concerned with how he was going to contact his mother while he commenced this assignment. He felt a small smile tug at his lips when he thought about the fury she would unleash on Ferguson for not informing them about the jammer when he returned. What had been thought to only take up a few hours of his time was revealed by General Scott Mitchell to be much longer.

"Regular Army training requires months in advance," he had explained to his mother, Agent Fowler, and Optimus Prime. The third party had been brought in at his and June's request, which was met with no resistance from either government official. Ferguson still remained oblivious to the Autobots' presence, as did the rest of the world. Mitchell had gone on, "Therefore, training with SF groups usually requires a basic knowledge in that field. One Mr. Darby, as I've been told, already possesses from his time with the Autobots. It should be a simple thing for us to go from there to SF training. At the very least a week of drills, exercises, and war games will be required."

"I'm not sure about this," said June. "I'm by no means an expert in military training but aren't the exercises Special Forces groups take part in dangerous?"

"These exercises are meant to simulate real-time combat, mam," said Mitchell. "To ensure the finest results, they must carry with them some level of difficulty akin to an actual combat situation. The GST is no different in that regard; if anything, our training is the finest Mr. Darby will receive from any faction in the Armed Forces."

"But there is no official record for this 'GST?" asked Optimus Prime. "From our previous conversation regarding this matter, your group is not officially recognized nor does it fall within the knowledge of the public. I take it this is one of your 'black ops' groups?"

"In a manner of speaking," Mitchell answered. "The GST is an organization deep within JSOC and falls within the jurisdiction of the Army. More often than not, we are sent to combat threats that fall below our radar and attempt to harm the United States in any way imaginable."

"Threats like M.E.C.H?" asked Jack.

"Precisely."

Agent Fowler interjected, "Then I'll ask you again why you're taking the time to drill a teenager who may not even join your group when he's old enough to decide. I for one believe Mr. Darby would make a fine addition to the Rangers but it should be his choice."

"I came here under the assumption that he'd chosen to accept our offer for training."

"It is," replied Jack.

"I know it seems strange now, but I believe that Mr. Darby might benefit from what he'll learn from Captain Ferguson and his team in the future. I'm not asking for your trust as we have not known each other long enough for something so personal. What I am asking, however, is that you go on a little faith. If any harm befalls Mr. Darby while in GST's care, I will personally take responsibility. You have my word that we'll allow no harm to come to him."

"Jack," Optimus turned his gaze on him. "Are you certain you still wish to partake in these excercises?"

Jack looked the Autobot leader in optics and answered firmly.

"Yes."

After packing a week's worth of clothes and personal affects, he had set off with Ferguson earlier that morning. He had bid farewell to Miko, Raf, and Arcee—in her vehicle mode—before entering Ferguson's jeep and leaving the base in the distance. Dressed in a khaki t-shirt and baggy camos, he was prepared for the desert heat. Growing up in Jasper, Nevada had made him appreciate the rarity of a nice cool day. Today was no such day.

Neither man had said anything since they left the base, preferring a comfortable silence to conversation. Jack was certain there was no animosity on Ferguson part toward him—he seemed more or less relieved that Agent Fowler had not been there to see them off—but just seemed to prefer silent contemplating to actually speaking. His mother had relayed the small bit of personal information about Ferguson—that he was a father of two. He could tell the captain had been disappointed by his decision to agree to the training but said nothing. He was a dedicated soldier, following orders no matter how much he disagreed with them.

The rumbling of the jeep stopped as Ferguson was stopped at a guard post.

"Cedric Ferguson," he introduced in a rehearsed tone; he'd likely committed this part of the security check to memory. "Captain of GST Team 1, call sign: Ghost Lead."

The guard checked the information against what looked like a giant computer pad. Technology, thought Jack with amusement, sure has come a long way. Verifying that Ferguson's identity was official, the guard let them pass. They approached a small unassuming building and parked in front. The color scheme matched the desert background, so it would have been easy to miss had they not been looking for it.

Getting out, Jack grabbed his duffle bag of clothes and items and followed Ferguson inside the building. A blast of cool air greeted the raven-haired teen and he was much too grateful to pass it up. Savoring the cool air, he appraised the inside of the building. I looked more like an office building sans the workers. Following Ferguson, Jack found himself in the Team 1 quarters.

He felt gazes on him immediately as two men stopped whatever activities they were engrossed in to welcome their C/O home. The first man was well-built, thick arms crossed across a broad chest, bald-headed and with a thick beard. The second man had a lesser—but no less impressive—build, black hair cut in military fashion and a beard, arms at his hips to appraise Jack. They were both wearing dark green t-shirts and desert camo pants, tucked neatly inside boots. The bald headed man was the first to speak.

"This our new assignment, sir?" he asked.

"Indeed, he is."

He extended his hand, "Master Sergeant Robert Bonifacio. Call sign: Pepper. Nice to meet you." Jack took the man's hand nearly lost his own in the larger appendage. Pepper's grip was strong but he kept it loose enough not to crush Jack's hand. "Don't let my age fool you, I can still rock with the best of 'em."

Jack took notice that his brown beard had several spots of grey in it, but it was likely from the stress being a military Special Forces operations officer. Still, Jack said nothing and smiled at the older man's attempt at humor.

His partner chose that moment to make himself known, "Sergeant First Class James Grant Ellison. Call sign: 30K. So what makes you so special that the General stuck you with us?"

30K spoke with a lilt that suggested he was from the rural South. Jack could already tell the man didn't like him and he'd have to work hard to earn any praise from him. He knew this next week would not be one he would remember fondly. But he was here and he was determined to see this through to end, regardless of whether he made any friends here. Before he could answer, 30K stepped closer and grasped Jack's arm.

"Dang, you ain't got no meat on your bones, son. What do you eat? Paper?"

"Organic tofu."

At 30K's raised brow, Ferguson stepped in, "Mom's a nurse."

"Really?" asked Pepper. "Maybe she could give me tips on lowering my blood pressure."

"One way to do that is to retire, Pep."

"But then who's gonna keep 30 here from giving this kid a hard time?" He looked back to Jack. "Don't let his attitude get to you, he's not a bad guy once you get to know him."

"Yeah well for now I'm his worst enemy," 30K smirked. "Trust me, kid, by the time I'm done with you, you'll wish you never decided to tangled up with the Ghosts."

"Ghosts?" asked Jack.

"Mr. Darby," Ferguson said. "Welcome to Ghost Recon."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Pepper watched as Jack dragged himself out of bed—apparently he was used to early mornings—and readied himself for the day's events. He took the boy's appearance once more and determined that some weight gain was required if he was going to be a Ghost. As ironic as the statement was, the boy wouldn't be much use to anybody if he didn't gain some muscle in his arms and torso. He'd set up a regiment for him today while Captain Ferguson and 30K ran their usual drills. First thing first though, thought the Master Sergeant: Breakfast.

"Morning, son," he greeted Jack once he was sure the kid was lucid enough to speak.

"Morning, sir," he replied, blue eyes dull. He wore a t-shirt and ordinary pajama bottoms, his black hair disheveled. After a shower, he was dressed in same attire as yesterday—he'd have learn to get used to it. Pepper showed him the rest of the base from the armory to the obstacle course.

"If you wanna be a Ghost, you have to learn the trade and its secrets," he explained. "Officially, we don't exist, which means we can get in places that are normally off limits to our borders. We mostly gather Intel on enemy nations to stay ahead of them in case they plan any terrorist attacks. We also have eyes on local militias in the U.S. just to make sure they don't do anything crazy. But unless our orders are different or in the event we're discovered, we use state-of-the-art weaponry and tactics to out-maneuver our enemies. For the next seven days, you'll learn about how we do things."

"I look forward to it, sir."

"Let's start with some Q & A: Why do you think we don't exist on any official record?"

"For the reason you just said, to monitor enemy countries in case they are planning something. But also in case you're compromised during said mission. If you don't exist, then the government can deny having any knowledge of your presence on enemy soil."

"Hit the nail on the head with that one, son." Pepper smiled; he knew he was going to like this kid. Entering the mess hall, he and Jack grabbed their breakfast and headed back to the armory. The room was lined with most advanced weaponry Jack had ever seen-sans the Autobots' own. Mission gear also hung on the walls, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice. Pepper lined several grenades on a table.

"They are several types of grenades," he began. "Frags, flash bangs, smoke, stun, and sensor for starters. For the most part, we use sensor grenades. When tossed, they emit a signal that feeds directly into our Cross-Coms and projects enemy personnel. Depending on the situation, we either designate them as red targets or whatever color is issued depending on a HVT's—that's High Value Target—importance."

Jack listened as Pepper explained the Cross-Coms system to him; they were combination of monocle, earpieces, and microphones that enabled communication during missions. They were linked to a super-computer at the GST's headquarters that sorted through and distributed information accordingly. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of what Raf might say if he knew about this kind of tech—better yet, what Ratchet might think of it all.

Pepper went on to grab some gear from the wall and lay it across the table—a combat vest, boots, gloves, a tactical knife, a rifle and a sidearm, a helmet and Cross-Coms. He retrieved the same attire for himself and showed Jack how to apply them. He then handed him sensor grenades and dummy frags—he knew he wasn't ready to handle live explosives. With everything on , Pepper appraised the teen's appearance. He could almost pass for a Ghost—almost.

The kid followed instructions without complaint; at least he would make for a model ROTC cadet. He tightened the laces of his boots and followed Pepper to the obstacle course—the file they'd been given suggested the raven-haired teen had done his fair share of PT in the past. The sun glared down its heated gaze as they entered their makeshift Pit. It brought back fond memories of his days in the Army, back with his Ranger Squad. Like any old soldier, Pep saw a bit of himself in the kid.

"Welcome to the firing range," he checked with Observation to make sure things were ready. "Ghost Recon 101: Learn how to shoot without making an ass of yourself." He jammed a magazine of rubber bullets into his M16. "Lesson 1: Aiming down your sights. Ever play a shooter?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Why so surprised, sir?"

"Nothing," he smirked, "It's just that you're a teenager and breathing. I'd expect you to have some base level knowledge of shooters."

"I've played some old games, but nothing too modern."

Right well," he dropped to one knee and positioned the M16 while squinting his right eye. "The best way to neutralize a hostile is to fire from a stable stance." He barked the "Go ahead!" to Observation and several targets sprung up immediately. Adjusting his grip, he opened fire on targets, hitting each of them in rapid succession. Jack had to cover his ears at each report of the weapon.

"What are you doing?!" came the Southern lilt of 30K, leveled up to no doubt convey his annoyance. "In the field, you'll find you're better off deaf than dead, son!"

Pepper chuckled to himself as he finished the last of the targets.

This was going to be fun.


End file.
